Screw the Canon
by Miss Malice
Summary: Could _piercing_ possibly change history? Read and find out. Beware of character death, mild swearing and serious freaking out. Enjoy.


It all started with a relatively innocent suggestion of piercings for Jar Jar Binks, but then... Innocence & me do not, I'm afraid, mix well '-) 

**Notes/Warnings:**  
**1.** George Lucas, though he does own the worlds and the characters, has got **absolutely nothing** to do with this plot. He's got _standards_, after all.  
**2.** Some people may get a wrong impression of me _not_ liking Ewan McGregor. But I _do_ like him. His Obi-Wan Kenobi, now... hehe '-)  
**3.** Pillow Book, referred to, belongs to... its creators, bless'em.   
**4.** An occasional lapse into Pterry's style is to be blamed on my excessive reading.  
**5.** See above, I _can_ spell _Binks_. I have deliberately changed the name to go with the new, um, image '-)   
Still with me? Oh dear. Read on, then... 

~ 

It was not a good day to be a Jedi, thought Qui-Gon Jinn, Forcing grass and small twigs out of his hair.   
First, this negotiations business went all fruit-shaped. He and his padawan had been gassed, shot at and chased by a bunch of scrap-iron all over the blasted Federal ship. Never having a chance to finish their drinks, mind you.   
At least they have escaped to the right planet. One could hope that, having the whole place to themselves, the Federals would let them Jedi be. No such luck. The nobs up there must have been really impressed by that door accident. Negotiations, my posterior...  
Then he had a cross-country race with the STAPs, sort of lost contact with his padawan, got closely acquainted with more specimens of local flora & fauna than he had ever dreamed of, and had been run over by a heavy transport, thank you very much.  
His latest predicament was still trailing after him, eyes bulging and ears flapping. If he concentrated, he could just shut off the creature's constant babbling. But if it ever, ever again attempted to kiss him, he would have to seriously violate the Code.  
He smelled of mire, and that puddle was cold, mind you.  
And he was stuck with what looked like the last hippie in the Galaxy.  
Finally, following laser blasts, he has spotted Obi-Wan fleeing headlong through the shrubbery. So there was more stumbling, bumping, lightsabre wielding and scrap-iron drowning in the swamp. Just your typical heroic Jedi stuff.  
"Sorry, Master," rasped Obi-Wan, soggy and out of breath. And somewhat shocked. Qui-Gon eyed his apprentice suspiciously. There were singe marks on his robe, and his short hair stood on end.  
"You forgot to turn off your power again, didn't you, Obi-Wan?"  
"It appears so, Master."  
"Under water, Obi-Wan?"  
The young man had decency to blush under all that slime. Qui-Gon sighed.  
"That which does not kill us makes us strong," he said, patting his padawan on the back. "I wish it also made us wise," he added mentally.  
"Yous save me again, hey?" happily croaked Jar Jar. It would have been a rhetorical question, if the amphibian had the slightest idea of what rhetoric was.  
Obi-Wan stared. "What's this?"  
"A Gungan. One of the locals. His name's Jar Jar Binxx." Qui-Gon's attention was directed out at the swamp. "Let's go, before more of those STAPs show up."  
"More?" Jar Jar gasped worriedly. "Yous say more?!"  
The poor thing turned his head frantically, looking out for the impending doom.  
His long ears flapped.  
There was a thud.  
"Ungk," said Obi-Wan. His eyes glazed over, and the young Jedi hit the damp ground.  
"Whoops..."  
Qui-Gon dropped on his knees, felt for a pulse, found none. What he had found was a dent in Obi-Wan's temple.  
It was a bad day to be a Jedi.  
"Oh fuck," said Master Jinn solemnly.  
He got up and grabbed the stunned Gungan by the ear.  
It was not an ear-ring. It was an ear-damned-big-thing, a massive dangling construction cast in some heavy metal. Human scull had no chance against it, so sorry.  
Well, then there was only one thing he could do. With his features set in a grim expression, Qui-Gon reached for his lightsabre.  
"Whadda... Whadda... Whaddayadoin'?!!!" shrieked Jar Jar Binxx.  
Qui-Gon abruptly brought his elbow up, knocking the air out of the Gungan. It was a bloody fine job. He was not to be disturbed.  
It was a habit. A strange hobby. Obi-Wan used to... make notes. True, he sometimes forgot things. Dates. Code statements. The power switch. But real things, important things had been etched there, black on white, forever. Some sort of external, tangible memory. Some of them were backwards.  
Qui-Gon wiped his brow.   
There were pictures, too. And a chemical formula. And a star map...  
He folded it up with great care, and sealed it in a plastic container extracted from his sash belt. The swamp took the rest.  
Then he looked up. Jar Jar sat on a hummock, frozen with terror. His mouth still hung open, and the long tongue lolled out.  
"Now, Jar Jar..."  
Binxx sprang up and tried to flee. Unfortunately, what little control he used to have over his body had failed him. Gangly limbs jerked, suggesting a skeleton made of rubber band. It looked like the Gungan was trying to walk in several directions at once. All in all, it looked miserable.  
And the day, in Qui-Gon's humble Jedi opinion, has used up its quota of misery.  
He caught Jar Jar by a waving extremity, which turned out to be the tongue. There was a stud in it.  
"Hmm," he said.  
"Ow," said the Gungan.  
"Now, Mister Binxx," Qui-Gon went on softly, "I must contact my Council, which requires my leaving the planet."   
Absently he continued to wind the tongue around his hand, revealing more piercings. In some respects Jar Jar had a great cultural and, perhaps, antique value.   
"Do you know where I could find, say, a space shuttle?"  
"`eeth," said Mr.Binxx.  
"And I hope you do know how to get to the city of Theed from here, don't you?"  
The Gungan shook his head, as far as his trapped tongue allowed.  
Qui-Gon's hand twisted gently. Jar Jar has suddenly found himself staring into deep blue eyes from a very, very short distance.  
"I believe you do," murmured the Jedi.  
And the Gungan said, "`th."  
---  
Darth Sidious was having a difficult time.  
Not with the Federation, not with the Senate, not even with the pesky Jedi. Honestly, it was ridiculous. His own apprentice, Darth Maul, has locked himself up in a Force-proof cell and refused to go out on the mission.  
He had tried everything, treats and threats, reason and arms. What he's got was a ruined interior and a smell that would take days to get rid of.  
Darth Maul huddled up in the center of the small chamber, pulling his robes over the fine black-and-red pattern that covered his skin. He knew better. Like hell he was going anywhere near that Jedi freak!  
---  
The story is rated a strong R. Anakin Skywalker had not been allowed into it.  



End file.
